


Something reassuring

by The_Watchers_Crown



Series: Statement Incomplete [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, almost fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 10:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16061084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Watchers_Crown/pseuds/The_Watchers_Crown
Summary: In which Jon can't sleep, and the tea probably doesn't have nefarious intentions.





	Something reassuring

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere between Too Deep and Grifter's Bone.
> 
> Statement Incomplete now posted [in ongoing fic form](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329079).

It’s late.

Well, it would be late, if “late” weren’t putting it generously.

It’s dreadfully, heinously late, and Jon shouldn’t still be tucked away in a corner of the Archives, but he hasn’t been sleeping, and he might as well be putting his restlessness toward something akin to productivity. So rather than being home in his bed, Jon sits at his desk with a looming mass of statement files and his watch aggressively reminding him that it’s now closer to morning than the middle of the night.

The statement in front of him is utter nonsense, a prattling, alcohol-fueled account of a ‘ghost’ swapping around electrical cords and leaving rude messages in refrigerator magnets. It’s a waste of time to make a recording of it at all, but if he doesn’t do it tonight, or today, or whenever it is, he’ll only be leaving it for the future. Better to record the incident of the passive aggressive flatmate when Tim’s not around to crack an unfunny joke.

So Jon reaches for his laptop with one hand and his long-cold tea with the other, and swears at the resulting _crash_ as the files avalanche their way onto the floor.

He’d like to take a moment to stare at the ceiling and wonder why he’s not asleep, but the tea is on the floor along with everything else, and it’s absurd to think it’s _maliciously_ running a river toward the files; he thinks it anyway. While he thinks it, he kneels on the floor, one knee landing in the cold liquid, and begins to gather up the statements.

“Not today, tea,” he says, and shakes his head, mostly at himself.

The heavy footsteps catch him off-guard. Nobody else ought to be here at this hour, not even Elias, and for several unpleasant seconds he thinks something has finally crawled out of the tunnels to eat him.

Then Martin bursts into the room and sees him kneeling there and stops.

They blink at each other.

Tea trickles toward a file and Jon snatches it away from the greedy rivulet.

“Jon,” Martin says, breathless from running. “I heard something fall and—I didn’t think anybody was here?”

“I should ask what _you’re_ doing here.” Jon spares a glance at his watch. “It’s half-four.”

“Oh.” Martin wrings his hands and then evidently remembers the mess in front of him. He collects a handful of tissues and begins to mop up the tea. “I, um, haven’t really felt comfortable back in my flat. I know it’s stupid, Prentiss got into the Institute just fine, and I wasn’t here to _sleep_ anyway, but…”

He trails off and spends a moment with his eyes fast on Jon’s hand.

Jon thinks he ought to say something reassuring; nothing comes immediately to mind, so instead he says a brisk, “Help me get this cleaned up.”

“Right!” Martin jumps, as though he’s been electrocuted instead of asked for assistance, and disposes of the tissues before beginning to collect his own stack of folders. He speaks softly all the while, reading off case numbers and names and offering his own commentary. He says, “These are all a lot of nonsense, aren’t they? You won’t need the tape recorder for any of them.”

Ordinarily, Jon would find Martin’s nonsense rambling aggravating. But it’s half-four and they’re both in the Archive even though it’s something of a terrible place to be when there are perfectly good mattresses and abandoned houses in the world, and there’s something almost comforting about the way he just keeps going, and then they both reach for the same file, and Jon’s hand lands on top of Martin’s, and they both—freeze, as it were.

There’s no reason for it. People make accidental contact all the time, and they are in close quarters at the moment, and it would make sense to just pull back his hand and move on into the next series of moments without acknowledging this one has happened. Without making it into more than an accidental brush of hands.

And though Jon likes to do things that make sense, not least to counter-balance the strangeness of his career, he doesn’t. He lets his hand settle onto Martin’s, and he waits to see what Martin will do.

 It takes a long time for Martin to do anything.

“Are you—” His voice is smaller than usual, a smidge more nervous. “Are you trying to hold my hand?”

Jon considers this. “Do you want me to?”

Martin replies to this by turning his hand upward and squeezing, not hard and for just a moment, and Jon hasn’t had time to register that when Martin’s already shooting to his feet and saying, “I’ll go and make fresh tea!” and tearing out of the room faster than he came in.

And Jon calls after him, “Don’t be long.”


End file.
